Seven Minutes in Multifandom Heaven
by mrs.kirkland-jones
Summary: America decides to play one of your most hated games at his party, but with guests like The Doctor, Iron Man and Dean Winchester, it's pretty difficult to refuse a few steamy minutes with your ultimate fandom crush!
1. Introduction

**Hello everyone! First 'story' upload!**

**I'd really like to take requests for this, so maybe give me a few ideas on who YOU'D like to spend Seven Minutes in Heaven with. I'll need a little help with Harry Potter and Hunger Games (character descriptions - I don't read/watch it, sorry! .)**

**Thankyou for reading! And please be nice ^.^**

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You weren't one to be late, but then again, you would do as much as possible to put off going to one of Alfred Jones' parties. Most of the time, the half-cocky American would end up spiking everyone's drink to intoxicate them into doing regrettable things. One time, you stole a quick snog from Captain Jack Harkness, although he didn't seem to mind. On another occasion, you went streaking with Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. That didn't exactly finish decently. Then there was this other time and... Well, lets just say you gave Arthur Pendragon a well deserved ass-kicking.

They were just vague memories, you reminded yourself, clambering clumsily from your Brandeis blue Mini Cooper, roof and outer wing mirrors plastered with the Union Jack. Arthur Kirkland sure would be proud. Almost-deafening k-pop bounced from America's staggeringly huge house, with the occasional squeal of a girl or 'battle-cries' of boys, already picking fights with each other. Demon hunters, royals, timelords, warlocks and demigods await you in that house, as well as a great many other people.

You trudge up to the front door, almost tripping up on the last white, wooden step, and catching yourself on the windowsill. You hadn't even had a drink yet and your were already tripping over; an unfortunate trait that came with being completely uncoordinated.

"_! It's great to see you, buddy!" Dean Winchester swings in the front door, a cheeky grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He ushers you in briskly, or more, pulls you in by your wrists, slams the door behind and pulls you into a bone-crushing embrace. The smell of whiskey is heavy on his breath, and you wonder how many more drinks it would be until he was seriously pissed.

"It's good to see you too, man." You stifle against his chest, attempting to push back from him, "Where's Sam?"

"He went off with some weirdos who called themselves The Doctor and Thor, I think? They're in the living room, but I met this really cool girl named Amy!" Dean bounces up and down, taking you with him. You return to the ground, laughing shakily. You're no where near as strong as Dean, and that was pretty crippling.

"I guess I'll see you around, then. Go have some fun with Amy." You wink.

"_, it's not like that, dude. She's with some Rory guy." Pouts Dean, seeming pretty miffed, "But there was this cute little Natasha girl with them too! Ciao, buddy!" He turns to almost skip down the hall.

"Dean... Dean, no..." You call half-heartedly. There was no way Natasha Romanova was going to be hit on like that. You giggle to yourself quietly, scanning the hall for someone interesting to talk to. You can see Percy and Annabeth in a heated debate over their mythology (or history, whatever you preferred to call it) over by the staircase, Sherlock was off complaining to John about something or other and Tony Stark seemed to be sharing tactics with Jack. You're about to make your way over to Team Axis when cool, slender hands pull you back by the waist.

"_! You made it, dude! Your here!" Alfred's deep, American accent by your neck catches you off guard, making your breath hitch a little in your throat. America them proceeds to grab your shoulders and spin you to face him.

"Only because you asked." You scoffed, furrowing your brows together. "Last time I was at one of these, England was close to filling a rape report against France... For Italy."

"He was just messing about! Live a little!" Cries America, smile widening with each syllable. "And besides, look at all the /other/i people here! Last time it was just the nations. This time, I made a few friends. You could too, ya know..." He winks, gesturing to some of the Horselords of Rohan by the food tables.

"Yeh, and maybe I already have enough friends. Really Alfred, aren't there more important things then showing off and throwing parties?"

"Aaw, you're no fun, little dude." Mumbles Alfred, downed a little by your seemingly buzzkill attitude.

"Look, I'll try and have fun, but I'm pretty sure no one is gonna want a party pooper like me around."

"Haha, you'll see!" Screams Alfred, throwing his hands up in the air. "Don't leave until the end, 'kay? I have a surprise for you."

"Okay," You simper, "Thanks Alfred."

"See?! I TOLD you I'm the better hero!" He smirks, sprinting off to a lethargic-looking Aragorn leaning up against an antique plate cabinet. You both roll your eyes at America's arrogance. Whatever this surprise was, you hands would end up wringing Alfred's neck in the end.

{MAGICAL TIME SKIP OF AWESOMENESS}

The party is starting to break up; people making their good byes and crawling out the door. You had spent most of the party hanging in the back with Sherlock, both bored and unamussed by your surroundings. Dean passes you by now and again, sometimes to grope you, and other times swinging some poor, unfortunate girl over his shoulder. Yup, he's had enough alcohol for one night. You've actually managed to stay away from most of it, instead sipping at a single glass of lemonade. Well, you're pn your third one now, seeing as how Clive Dove stole your first one and you spilt your second over Canada. Poor guy, you thought, as he apologised furiously under his breath, mopping at his jacket before pouring you another glass.

"I'm really sorry, Matthew. I didn't see you there." A verbal waterfall flows from your mouth explaining how bad you felt and you'd make it up to him.

"I know you didn't." He sniffles. "No one ever sees me." Tears prick at the edge of his eyes and you rush to hold the most misunderstood country. His hands hook over the back of your shoulders as he cries into your jacket. You sway side to side, stroking his hair and telling him it's okay.

"Jesus, you too - get a room!" The shrill, aggravating voice of Randall Ascot echos through the room at you. Canada pulls back from you to look away at the wall, hiding his scarlet face with his hands.

"You're such a jerk, you know that Randall?" You shoot back. "I was just trying to make him feel better. Something you're not very good at."

Oh crap, now you're in for it. Randall's eyes narrow as he storms his way through the crowd, pushing and shoving as he goes. You can feel the colour from your face draining, a cold sweat beading on your forehead. _Well done, _, _you think, _you just ticked some drunkard off, and this will not end nicely._ As he reaches you, the room becomes silent, the faint chatter of people in other rooms distant. You stare him down, determined not to loose your cool.

Grover Underwood and Nick Burkhardt shake their heads from where they're standing, Damon Salvatore tenses, along with his younger brother Stefan and you see something orange flicker through Merlin's eyes. Even if it did come down to that, there's no way Randall would win - most of the people left had never heard of him, and had defended you in some way or another before.

"Hey dudes! What's going on?" America skips in, holding an old stenson in his hands. The smile from his face drops as he feels the tension of the room. You turn to look at him apologetically, sorry for ruining his party. Whatever. Randall started it.

"I am /terribly sorry/, Alfred." You stress. "What were you going to say, dear?" You could always count on your quaint, British colloquial to smooth out the stress.

"Oh, right!" Alfred exclaims, pointing his index fingers in the air. "It's time for your surprise, _!"

"My... My what?" You fondell back through your mind, picking at it for the mention of a surprise. "Ah, yes! Uhm, what is it...?"

"Well what happens at every great party?! Seven minutes in heaven, that's what!" He screams excitedly.

You mentally face palm. You were one of three girls still left, the other to being Natalia Alfroskaya and Guinevere Pendragon. You were out numbered greatly, and America's smile grew even bigger at your realisation. Sighing, you drag yourself into the other room along with Belarus and Gwen as Alfred calls "PUT AN ITEM IN THE HAT, EACH OF YOU NOW!"

"Who are you hoping to get, _?" Gwen asks you, staying collected, she was so chill, ya now? Nothing fazed the queen of Camelot, and she seemed to think she wouldn't be playing anyway. She's probably right - Arthur would sentence to death anyone who dared lay a finger on her.

"Uhm, I don't really know. I'm not that big a fan of this game." You really dod know who, but who you didn't know was Gwen, and you don't want to be telling everyone who you like. "What about you, Belarus?"

"Russia, of course!" She coos, eyes staring dreamily into space whilst her elbow rests on her knee.

"But, isn't he your brother...?" Gwen asks cautiously.

"Yes, so maybe he is!" Natalia snaps, "What do you know?"

Gwen shut her mouth tight.

"Okay, dudettes, you can come back in now! This is gonna be goooooood!" America calls. You follow Gwen in to sit on the cream, plush carpet in between John Watson and Clive, Randall snarling at you from across the circle.

"_, you're up first!" Alfred shoves the hat into your hands and you panic, trying not the drop it. A hush falls over the room as you delve your hand into the hat. Something hard, something squishy, something smooth... Eyes look upon you, some eagar, some aroused and some genuinely damn-well scared. Closing your eyes, you slowly pull out...


	2. The Jammy Dodger - The Doctor, DoctorWho

"_, you're up first!" Alfred shoves the hat into your hands and you panic, trying not the drop it. A hush falls over the room as you delve your hand into the hat. Something hard, something squishy, something smooth... Eyes look upon you, some eager, some aroused and some genuinely damn-well scared. Closing your eyes, you slowly pull out...

"A Jammy Dodger...?" You ask, holding up the sticky, crumbling biscuit.

"Ah, yes! That's mine!" An eccentric-looking man in a tweed jacket and bowtie jumps to his feet and waves a hand in the air. Of course, it was none other than The Doctor, most likely oblivious to the nature of this game. You don't know him very well, apart from a conversation about something called The Medusa Cascade earlier, but you already have a little soft spot for the loveable dork.

You sigh a little, whether it's out of disappointment, relief or happiness. He was cute and all, but it won't get very far. The Doctor follows you as you make your way over to the cramped coat closet in the corner of the room, his expression happy and naïve, swinging his arms as he goes.

"Seven minutes, you guys." America winks, slamming the door behind the both of you. The room is dark and stuffy, providing an extremely appropriate place for this game. You stumble back against some coats, groping at the walls to steady your self. You can just about spot the silhouette of The Doctor and you reach out to place your hands on his shoulders.

"So, how do we play this game then, _?" He asks, rubbing his hands together intently.

"You really don't know?" You ask. Everyone knew how to play this hideous game, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Nope. Not. A. Clue. Although I always find earth games pretty fun."

"Earth... Games...?" You ask.

"Yes, we'll I'm not exactly from around here, but I'll elaborate later."

"Well, you're supposed to kiss, but if you don't want to, that's fine." You blush foolishly. Although this man had such a charming air and smile, you only met him recently and it was silly to think he'd do that kind of thing.

"Ah, you mean like this!" The Doctor drifts his rough hands along your jawline to tilt your chin up to his face. You catch his dark eyes glimmer in the darkness before he presses his soft lips to yours. It takes a moment for you to register this, but you soon find yourself wrapping your arms around his long neck, pushing your lips in perfect sync with his. It starts smooth, and slow, but you soon find your mouth quickening and your breath becoming more rapid as you slide your tongue into his mouth.

Carefully, you trail your hands down to his scarlet red bowtie, pulling at its sides in an attempt to loosen it. It falls around his collar and you smile triumphantly against his mouth, moving yourself to daintily slip off his jacket. You press your hands up against his chest to feel his staggeringly fast heartbeat. No. Not one, but two. Or at least ne beating double time. *thump, thump, thump, thump* you here it echo, a golden, warm feeling pooling in your stomach. That sort of turn on is just indescribable

Much to your dismay, he catches your wrists and pulls back, grinning at you all too knowingly. You don't know what came over you, but that kiss sure must have been special for you to start removing this stranger's clothes.

"Like that?" Asks The Doctor, resting his forehead against yours.

"Exactly like that." You breathe as you catch your eyes in his.

"What about my bowtie, though?" He pulls at the ruby ribbon at his neck.

"It was annoying me." You simper, resisting the urge to lick your lips hungrily. That was a kiss you wouldn't forget.

"But bowties are cool!" He protests, tying it up again. His hands work quickly and your wander how they'd feel against your bare skin. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Your cheeks turn a cherry red, red like that god forsaken bowtie, as you back up against the wall, embarrassed about your thoughts. The Doctor notices you stumble in the dark and follows you back. "I have that effect on all the ladies." He jokes, over-exaggerating a hair flip.

"Show off." You smack him lightly in the arm before pecking him lightly on the cheek. He smiles at your touch before kissing your lips again, feather light this time. You don't push for anything more, as this moment is so simple and pretty.

"Times up, dudes!" America bursts open the door and you pull The Doctor away to give Alfred a threatening look. "What? You can't spend the whole night in here, _." He laughs.

"But I guess we can somewhere else." You shoot back, dragging The Doctor by his cuff outside into the night air. People give you odd looks as you trudge out with the bewildered-looking man trailing behind you. He doesn't seem to have any objections though, and as soon as you both stepped out into the cool night air, he scoops you up into his arms and begins to carry you round the back of the house.

"Where are we going?" You giggle, excited by this strange man's eagerness.

"You'll see." He says, turning the corner to arrive at an old fashioned police box. It's a little worn here and there, and from the outside, it looks no bigger than the cupboard you were just so close in. The Doctor kicks open the door to reveal a huge room unlike any you have ever seen before.

A huge, flashing control panel of some sort stands in the middle of the room, with lights and bells and levers poking out here, there and everywhere. A railing borders the platform it sits on, as well as the stairs leading you up.

"I take it when you say you're not from around here...?"

"You noticed it earlier - two heartbeats, bigger on the inside techy stuff going on and insane fashion sense." Smirks The Doctor. "I think we'll have enough privacy in here."

He places your feet on the thick metal floor to lock the door. He turns back to you, the same playful smile as earlier tugging at the corners of his mouth, all the while tracing his fingeres up and down your spine with a slight anticipation.

Needless to say, no one heard from you for the rest of the night.


	3. The Neckerchief - Merlin, BBC Merlin

"_, you're up first!" Alfred shoves the hat into your hands and you panic, trying not the drop it. A hush falls over the room as you delve your hand into the hat. Something hard, something squishy, something smooth... Eyes look upon you, some eager, some aroused and some genuinely damn-well scared. Closing your eyes, you slowly pull out...

It's soft. And red. You move the cloth through your fingertips, rubbing the silky fabric to make a soothing, scratching sound. "Who's is this?" You call, waving the scarlet square above your head. Anyone could have put it in, with it being such a simple and classic object.

Everyone stirs a little before Arthur Pendragon gives a playful push at his friend Merlin's shoulder, motioning him to stand. Uncomfortably, at that; his jaw sets in a slight grimace, full of disgust and unamusement. Blimey, are you really that bad? Meanwhile, Arthur takes another swig of his ale, patting his friend on the back. Clearly, he had set him up.

"You guys! Come on!" Alfred calls, flinging open the cupboard door and motioning for you to go in. He could at least act enthused. Ambling through the other people, Merlin snatches his scarf from your hands, his cheeks flushing the same colour red. After contemplating whether you should follow or not, someone gives you a hard push from behind, sending you hurtling into the cupboard. "Can't get out of this one, dudes!"

You suppose it could be worse - at least Merlin isn't perverted, like Prussia or Captain Jack would be. But he could at least be a little enthused instead of huddling in the corner of the blackness. Or move his arms away from his face. Or even look at you. This silence is unnerving, causing you to grow more anxious by the second.

"Hey, Merlin." You sit next to him, pulling your knees to your chin. It would be hell to spend the whole seven minutes in here without even saying a word. "Are you okay? We don't have to play if you don't want to."

His sapphire eyes dart to yours as he flicks his reddened face towards you, turning away again just as fast. You cock your head to the side in curiosity, bemused a little by his actions. Why is he acting so weird?

"Look, I know we're not the best of friends, but we could at least _/try/ _to do something." Your attempts to calm him fail quite miserably, his cheeks becoming darker and darker. It makes him look rather cute, actually, all up-tight and flustered. You giggle a little and he looks back to you, eyes widening slightly.

"W-what's so funny?" Merlin's voice shakes, cracking here and there. Aaw, still so innocent!

"Just you, I guess - you're just so adorable when you're like this!" You reply, turning his entire face scarlet, right up to the tips of his ears.

"You really think so...?" He finally manages to crack a smile, his timidness slipping away.

"Of course, silly!" Pecking him on the nose, his blush seems to catch at your cheeks too, the flames burning so bright.

"Then I guess you wouldn't mind if... If I told you I kind of f-fancy you...?"

"Well the feeling is kind of mutual." You smirk, placing a soft kiss upon his slightly chapped lips.

You reach down to hold his hand while cradling his side of his face with the other. He pushes his mouth back to yours a little harder, threading his long fingers through your (h/c) hair. Hands tightening, you pull back to fall against him, listening to his rapid heartbeat. You take in his glorious scent of pine and allspice as you wrap your arms around him.

"I've always thought you were cute, really." You simper into his chest. "You just avoided me so much, I guessed it was a lost cause."

"You know how happy in makes me to hear you say that." Mumbles Merlin against your hair, kissing your forehead. "I love you, _"

"I love you too, Merlin."

"You GUYS! You didn't DO anything!" Alfred screams from the now open door. Ligh streams across the floor to where you and Merlin sit, a sudden, unwanted surprise causing you to both lift an arm to your face.

"That's what you think." He smile knowingly as Merlin helps pull you to your feet before strolling out laughing arm-in-arm.


	4. The Cog - Clive Dove, Professor Layton

"_, you're up first!" Alfred shoves the hat into your hands and you panic, trying not the drop it. A hush falls over the room as you delve your hand into the hat. Something hard, something squishy, something smooth... Eyes look upon you, some eager, some aroused and some genuinely damn-well scared. Closing your eyes, you slowly pull out...

"What is this?" You whisper, taking the ridged metal ring into both of your hands. From inspection, it's silver yet dull in colour, with pieces sticking out here and there. As you hold it to the group, your eyes scan the room in search of a possible owner. Who would have such a strange little cog?

"That would be mine, my dear." A thick Coventry accent purs next to you, before long slender fingers pluck the object from your hand. Your head shoots around to meet the smug smirk of Clive Dove. You've spoken to him a lot before, but you two can only really be described as acquaintances. He seemed pretty nice, but you can't help but listen to those nasty rumours about him. A soft sigh escapes your lips, one full of both annoyance and temptation - sure, he's pretty to look at, but he's also a possible psychopath with an obsession over vengeance.

"Are you coming then, love?" Clive grins, stood and holding his hand out to you.

"Don't 'love' me." You spit, but take his hand anyway. Hey, if he was offering...!

"It's a little late for that." He chuckles darkly. You raise an eyebrow at his remark as he helps you up. Yep, definitely a psychopath. Your slight grimace doesn't change as he leads to to the cupboard, your hand stiff in his, eyes cold. People give your concerned glances from across the room, but no one actually bothers to save you - there's no way of getting yourself outta this one.

No sooner is the door closed tight, you're already leant against the far wall with your arms crossed adamantly over your chest. If it wasn't apparent enough already, you are not going to enjoy this. Clenching your jaw callously, your cold (e/c) eyes search for his form in the dark.

"Now now, _. Why don't we play this the nice way?" Says Clive, his footsteps approaching you. You're not going to budge, end of conversation.

"I am." You retort. "I haven't slapped you yet, which is nice."

"Oh, and that's _your way _of being nice?"

"Well, what other way have I of being nice?" You don't have time for Clive's games. It'd be much more preferable if he could stay as far away as possible from you, even if the cupboard only allowed a foot or so distance.

"Do you really want to know...?" His hands wavered over your wrists, before pinning them above your head in a fluid motion. Without time to complain, Clive pushes his lips against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as yours fly wide open. Your struggles against him are useless as he pushes you further and further against the wall, bringing his body closer to yours.

Well it's not _terrible. _His mouth is soft and warm, if a little demanding. It meets your slightly chapped lips, Clive's tounge sliding along, asking for entrance. You deny it, pulling your lips a little tighter and smirking slightly. Without warning, Clive's hands trails down from your arms to grab you tightly by the rear. Now it's his turn to laugh as you let out a small moan, opening your mouth wide enough for him to slip his tounge into an easily-won battle with yours.

You let your hands weave themselves into Clive's hazelnut hair, tugging at the soft locks here and there, earning small wimpers of pleasure. This is perfectly moral, right? I mean sure, it's not like this guy is a complete stranger, but small conversation over afternoon tea hardly qualifies as 'knowing' someone. Too late for that, you guess, as your fingers wiggle their way to his hat to throw it off somewhere in the dark. Clive pulls back to look at you, his sienna eyes piercing into your (e/c) ones.

"Look _, I know you don't know me too well, but can I just tell you how beautiful you look tonight?" Clive hums in your ear, gently rubbing his thumbs against your hips. You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as your breathing quickens and your stomach drops.

"You really mean that?" You wimper, bringing a hand to his cheek.

"Of course, and I'm sorry if my actions beforehand were not as liberal as they should have been. But I guess now I can make up for that..." His voice turns a little rougher near the end, an animalistic sheen crossing his face before reaching to remove your shirt and attack your neck with kisses.

"C-Clive..." You throw your head back, hitting the wall with a thud. Clive grins against your skin, moving lower to the valley between your breasts. Wanting to be occupying yourself with something, you move your fingers to the gentian tie at his neck, untying and dicguarding it before slowly popping open his shirt buttons to draw your fingertips down to his well-toned chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa guys. Not in the closet, my grandma uses this place." Both of you are brought down from ecstasy by the slightly, whiney voice of Alfred, who's stood impatiently in the doorframe. Without shame whatsoever, you squirm out from underneath Clive and rummage around a bit for your shirt, slipping it over your head and taking Clive's hand. He hasn't had time to fully button up his shirt yet.

"Don't bother with that." You breathe, putting your hand over his. "We won't be needing that upstairs." Clive wiggles his eyebrows before pecking your lips softly.

"Jesus Christ you guys, get a room already!" Cries Alfred.

"And that's exactly what we're doing." You wink before Clive lifts you bridal style and whisks you up the stairs.


	5. The Necklace - Dean, Supernatural

**This was a request from my Wattpad upload. Keep sending them please! ^.^**

* * *

"_, you're up first!" Alfred shoves the hat into your hands and you panic, trying not the drop it. A hush falls over the room as you delve your hand into the hat. Something hard, something squishy, something smooth... Eyes look upon you, some eager, some aroused and some genuinely damn-well scared. Closing your eyes, you slowly pull out...

A type of pendant...? A small yet heavy gold lump sits it your hand, with a thick string pulled through the top. The ornament itself looks very worn-out and loved. You know immediately who it belongs to. Your face flushes a little; it was okay to fancy your best friend just a 'little' bit, right? Well it isn't your fault you found him so damn sexy, what with all the rock n' roll and wonderful voice and pretty eyes... Okay, please stop. You're getting a little carried away here.

Without even turning or scanning the room, you call out in a knowing, yet tentative, voice.

"Dean Winchester,"

"Yeh? Oh hey, that's uh, me...! Yeh!" A slightly wavering voice calls out from the crowds. You spot his leathered arms pushing there way through to reach you, a little more forcefully, if slower, than usual. Slinging himself around your shoulder, Dean brings his face closer to yours. "You wanted to see me, babe?"

"Dean, you're hammered. This probably isn't a good idea." You grumble, attempting to shove your strong-willed friend away with no success.

"_, I am perfectly /fine/. We gotta get in that closet, right?" He points to the wooden door in the corner of the room shakily. The blush in your cheeks starts to rise again and you pray Dean is too trollied to notice.

"Uh, yeh. But like I said Dean, I'm not going in there with you pissed like this."

"Aaw, come on! It'll be fuuuuuuuun~" His vodka-latticed breath is close to your ear as Dean struggles to stand. You'll have to get back at Russia later for giving him so much of the strong drink.

"Sorry buddy, rules are rules. Seven minutes!" Screeches Alfred. Before you have time to even blink, America gives both of you a hard push into the cupboard, sending you both hurtling to the floor. Groggily, you pull yourself up to a sitting position, rubbing your head. You must have knocked it on a shelf or something on the way in, but God, does it hurt.

"Bloody American." You grumble, the pain starting to settle.

"Whatcha say, _?" Dean asks.

"Oh, nothing." You look around the small space for him, but can't see him anywhere in this dark. Deciding to get up, you push your hands on the floor beside you. That... Isn't floor... You squeak at the soft warmth that meets your skin instead. "Ah, Dean! I-I'm sorry!"

"Haha, it's fine dude!" He laughs, sitting up with you still perched on his abdomen. His arms snake around you just to pull you closer, making you let out a small squeak. "This isn't so bad, we just gotta sit here for seven minutes."

"We-we're supposed to be playing the game, Dean." You stutter, turning around in his lap.

"Oh, I see." He smirks, bringing his face closer to yours. Dean wastes no time in getting his lips busy, pressing them roughly against your soft ones. Wow, he sure must be sloshed to be snogging his best friend in a dark room.

Without even thinking about it, you kiss him back with just as much passion, entwining your fingers behind his neck for depth. In one fluid motion, Dean takes one of of your legs to pull it round his other him, putting you in a straddling position with his hand firmly on your hips. Circling your back with his thumbs only causes you to let out a suppressed moan, allowing Dean's tounge to slip into your mouth. He begins to toy with the hem of your shirt, only making that warm feeling near your stomach grow even more intense.

"D-Dean," You whine against his lips, "W-why are you doing this?"

"Cos this is how we play the game, pal." He hums, tracing your legs with his fingertips

"But y-you're drunk! You don't know what you're doing!"

"That's what you think. I can be a very good actor when I want to, _."

You pull your shirt over your head, just to hug him close. "So you really...?"

"Of course I do, _. I always have. I guess I've just been so caught up with-"

"Just shut up." You snap, pulling him into another kiss while working on the buttons of his plaid shirt - it isn't fair for you to be the only one getting undressed here. His dark lesther jacket is long gone. Soon, the nuisance piece of cloth is disguraded on the floor and your hands begin to roam over the plains of his washboard abs. He really is perfect, you sigh mentally as he begins to kiss you downwards, staring at your neck. It's at this point he leans you backwards on the floor, his lips finally reaching the top of your jeans.

You here him let out an almost pur, as in a sense of ownership. You don't mind - if this what ownership felt like, you would be held onto forever. Dean teases your hips, letting his tounge slide over the, every now and again, earning little wimpers of pleasure from you. This kind of torture is unbearable. Anymore and you might just -

"Dean!"

You both bolt upright abruptly, you searching for your tshirt somewhere in the dark. Dean stands, picking up his jacket and shirt from where they were thrown.

"Really Sam? Do we have to do this now?" Dean huffs, pulling on his clothes.

"Look, I'm sorry dude, but we got a case. We have to go /now/." Stresses Sam. "Oh uh, hi _."

"Er, hey Sam." You squeak, trying to cover your chest with your shirt.

"I'm really sorry about this."

"No, no it's fine." You try to laugh awkwardly. "You guys have to leave. It's okay."

Dean pulls you up from where you're slumped, fully-dressed by now. "I'll... See you soon, okay?" He simpers.

"Yeh, maybe next weekend." You smile.

"I'll hold you to that!" He laughs, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. Your heart flutters again as you watch him and his brothers practically skid out of the front door.

"That's cheating!" Screams Alfred. "Your seven minutes weren't up! Come back here!"

"I really don't mind, America." You smile, holding you hand against your cheek. "And thanks."

"Thanks? What do you mean, little dude?"

"We both just needed a push in the right direction." You smirk, making your way to to sit between the Hitachiin twins, scarlet still dusting your cheeks.


End file.
